


Bless You!

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-10
Updated: 2007-04-10
Packaged: 2018-12-27 04:12:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12073287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Brian Kinney is handsome, smart, sexy, very successful and has everything under complete control, when one day Mother Taylor hands her son over for guardianship. However, the operating manual states nothing about gruesome things like sniffles, coughing and nausea and for once Brian’s commendable ´We shall not kill our fellow lodger with an apple knife´ intentions begin to waver dangerously.





	Bless You!

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

  
Author's notes:

It really sounds much better in German, but Bine did a great job with the translation, so kneel at her feet next time you happen to stumble over her ;-)

Special thanks to **elyxer** for the wonderful and very fast beta job and to **adrtylilsecret** for saving Justin’s ass ;-)

* * *

**Bless You!**

POV: Brian 

In our bed there are strict rules, and for a change, I'm not referring to the times we spend fully awake and extremely active here. Nope, this is all about balancing sleep and a peaceful night's rest, two not so obvious things if one shares his house with a creature that in its earlier life must have once been a hybridization between a spider monkey and a hyperactive squirrel. 

Therefore, rule Number 1: We keep at least a proper dildo-length distance from each other.

Officially measured by Ivan, my very own double headed, 14-Inch Dildo, imported from Russia. 

And Justin respects this rule strictly… probably because of his enormous respect for Ivan and his penetrating powers. Yes, in a manner of speaking he passed the 14-Inch mark only once, and in the days that followed, he walked through the loft carefully, moving like a big stork…after Ivan had clarified the factual circumstances once again. 

Yeah, some of you might think that this is a little drastic, but believe me, it's absolutely necessary. Because nothing is more devastating for hot ' James Dean naked on the hood´ dreams than a whimpering creature that clings to you with naked feet and hands gripping like extra intensified velcro, or like the mud on a rubber boot. 

And with that in mind, I realized immediately that something did not go as planned that night, when suddenly a fuzzy squirrel appeared next to James Deans divine body, sniffed three times while running in a circle, sneezed strongly and then disappeared again. 

But I was about to get in nearer contact with James´ backside, so I tried to ignore the bad feeling I was getting, pushed forward and completely lost every coherent thought within the next second . 

And yes, it was great. 

It was one of my favorite dream fantasies in which James wore nothing but this lightly crumpled hat with dust on the brim and one absolutely worn out pair of 501 jeans, which fell around his old spurred boots. And he moaned and did this thing with his lips, right then, I decided to re-enact this dream sequence with a camcorder next time, you know… for creating hot video material. 

"Oh yeah, Bri. Deeper. Ahh." he groaned as I slammed into him really hard and smiled and slapped his absolute perfect butt. That made him cry out and he started making these whimpering sounds in this almost suffering manner, and I got a little irritated. "James? Is every-" I wasn't able to finish my panted question, before a chill of cold horror ran down my back. There it was again. The fucking squirrel! The damn brute, climbed like a seriously injured alpine climber over James Dean's hat brim, dug its tiny velcro paws in it and blinked at me with it's sad puppy eyes. With it's BLUE fucking puppy eyes!

  
I frowned in the same way I always do, when I'm really disgusted about something and then quickly shut my eyes to focus on James' innermost parts and on the point where I was buried in him. And yes, it worked. I positioned myself in a new angle, held his hips really tightly and started with my Brian Kinney special 'You'll have to sit on a god damned air cushion for the next few days, padre` program. I thrust, and thrust and thrust a little harder and only got a little out of rhythm as this small appeal for help penetrated my ears. 

"Brian! Hold me!" 

A fucking squirrel emergency call, sent out by a fuzzy animal which seemed to have huge problems to holding onto Mister Dean's hat brim, almost as if he were caught in a typhoon. 

I squeezed my eyes shut tighter, took a deep breath and slammed forward again. And again and again...

"Brian!"

.. and harder and deeper...

Brii-an!"

... and even deeper and with more emphasis...

"Brii-aan... please!"

... and a hint to the left and...

"It hurts!"

_Huh?_ I half opened an eye, saw alpine-squirrel and how it pleadingly held out its paw in my direction. It looked so pitiful like it was using the last of its strength to keep from falling into a deep abyss.  
And what did I do? Well of course. I stopped immediately in the middle of a thrust which would have certainly hit home, groaned a frustrated `Damnedfuckingshit!`, reached forward, rescued the dumb rodent and just wanted to start strangling it a little for punishment, as I – as only my luck would have it - woke up with the feeling of a warm, clinging body on mine, before I even got the chance to take a last craving glimpse of Jimmy's auspicious posterior. 

Oh yes. I felt an instantaneous interaction with Ivan the dreadful coming.

"Justin!" It was a mixture of growling and hissing, but seemed to miss its effect, because the fucking brat only pressed himself tighter against my chest. A little forcibly I tried to escape this ambidextrous attempt to cuddle, pushed the boy back onto his own side of the bed (which of course was only a generous loan!) and felt that my anger cooled down to some extent, as he curled into a small pile of misery, mumbling inarticulately. Something about `tummy ache`, `cold` and `not so well`.

Hmm. Yes, after closer consideration the little twat really looked somewhat different as when I left him hear five hours earlier, with the loving words "Three times is enough. It's a school night. Now sleep already!". Paler in some way and _urgh_... all sweaty. Great. It couldn't be that he was-

"Brian'h... I thin'g I'm sig..." it sniffled as if on command somewhere out of the pillow, where his face was buried. "Can´h we pud off Ivan' h ahtil tomorro'? Please?" 

H-hm. I had to admit I was impressed of my educative faculties. The boy was in fact well trained.

"Hm." I gave him my blank answer, to exclude every sign of worry, but sat (as pissed as possible) up and moved a little closer to his side. Where I recognized immediately that he not only looked sick, no, he even felt so. His face was oddly cold and wet and the rest of his usual so entertaining body seemed to glow. "You're warm all over." I noticed, took the corner of his blanket and pulled it illogically over him.

"Brian?" He rolled his face out of the pillow.

"Hmm?" I only leaned so close to him, because he spoke very quietly. He smelled good. Like apples and fresh bread.

"My head hurts..." he mumbled and looked at me, with his large, blue 'Please help me' eyes.

"Hmm." I laid down again at a safe distance. But... I reached out with my left hand and knotted it loosely with his fingers. I mean, what could I have done otherwise? He was allergic to all the medicine in this house and I definitely wouldn't sit here and pity him. Besides, he really seemed to like my 'comforting' hand, because he pulled it closer and directly to his chest, where he embraced it with his whole body, like a fucking teddy bear.

And I -of course- rolled my eyes and sighed in deep annoyance … before my thumb began to rub over the back of his hand, for no special reason.

... and I couldn't sleep for the rest of the night, while the little twat beside me snored noisily with his plugged nose, whimpered from time to time and produced a little spit puddle on my pillow.   
***  
"Justin." No reaction.

"Hey, Justin." A small sigh from him and a little insistent shaking from my side.

"Justin wake up!" He whimpered and rolled away from me.

"Damned twat, get your lazy ass out of my bed!" Well, you could say, after a sleepless night and an interrupted James Dean-sex dream my mood wasn't its best at 7 a.m. … Especially not, when on said morning, one gaze in the mirror clarified, that I in fact looked almost like thir- twenty-nine and twelve months. On a fucking morning, which I had a very important meeting with one of the most important clients of the agency. On a morning which my brilliance was demanded! My incomparable charm! And, damn it: My fucking hot looks! This aspect could be in fact very helpful with some of my... harder clientele. 

And I felt utterly, ruthlessly abandoned by all these three attributes, as I now stood here with my bad looking hair (I mean hello? Nobody had ever seen Brian Kinney with something other than perfect hair!), deep shadows under the eyes and a really disgusting snot stain on the sleeve of my $ 380 Valentino jacket, which remained there stubbornly, since the sleeping twat in bed, thirty minutes ago, had a ruthless sneeze attack.   
He had sniffled, made a rattling-gurgling sound, wriggled his nose, like he had watched this horrible show with the witch far to often, and- before I had even the slightest chance to categorize his absurd behavior, or to avert my (by no means worried!) gaze, he catapulted a complete truckload of slimy body fluids across the room. 

I was so perplexed for the first few seconds that I totally forgot to kill him for that. And as I, eventually remembered, it was to late, because he rubbed the back of his hand over his nose, curled into a small ball, mumbled a polite 'Bless you' in his sleep and looked in this process so... _innocent_ , that I certainly would've reported myself at Amnesty International, if I had killed him with my apple knife.

But never mind how this awful day had started, it had to get going somehow and so, treating him with the rest of my remaining reserve, I took the blanket from the brat's body and clarified again that it was time for his scholastic education.

"You have 15 minutes. Go shower and then come into the kitchen to drink your juice."

What?! Of course I give him juice for breakfast. I'm not a monster.

And Justin understood my clear orders excellently, even while half asleep. Eventually, he climbed out of bed on autopilot, gave me a slobbery peck on the cheek together with a snorkeled "Moh'ning Bria'hn." and with slow steps disappeared into the bathroom. 

Good boy. Colds are for accountants and lesbians. Not for proud Irish men and their... temporarily room mates.

But yes, whatever. I was really satisfied, even smiled slightly as I heard the flushing of the toilet, shortly followed by the running from the water of the shower, and made my way to the kitchen to consume my morning glass of guava juice.   
Twenty-one minutes later the stupid juice bottle was empty, the water in the shower still running and Justin hadn't reappeared. Just great. If this little twat thought he could waste time in there to miss his class, he was damn fucking wrong!

Of course, I began to state this fundamental opinion as I marched, with long strides and little self control, in the direction of my bathroom. 

"Justin it's nearly eight, dammit. Don't you have a fucking broom closet in school where you can jerk off?! You will come out of there. Now!" I was even polite enough to knock three times on the closed door, before my patience wore out and I stepped in without permission. And for a moment, I was a little disoriented in all the steam and fog, surrounding me immediately. But really only for one moment, because I have the platinum membership in the local baths. There was absolutely no naked butt who could hide in oh so high humidity from my eagle eyes... and certainly not the joyful globes of my uninvited house guest.

I have to admit I hadn't calculated on finding him rolled up like a hedgehog on the blank floor in front of the shower, instead of in it.

"Justin, what the hell are you doing down there?!" I bent down to him and he blinked as he felt my hand on his forehead.

"I'm almosd ready..." he said before he lost the fight against gravity, and couldn't hold up his head any longer .

Shit. If this damn brat thought I would let him go to school in this condition, then he was damn fucking wrong!

"Come on." I helped him up from the ground, swore because my jacket now wasn't only slimy but soggy as well, and carried the kid back to bed.   
"Bria' hn," he struggled a little as I stuffed the blanket left and right taut under his body. "I have to go to school."

I ignored his sniffled words and adjusted his pillow. "Bria' hn..." he tried to put his head up for one last time, before I shoved it with emphasis back onto the feathered pillows. "I ged in troubl' if I don' d show ub!"

I sighed. Why did this kid always have to be so complicated?! "What's the number of your school?"

"You wand' to call?" His red fever cheeks glowed amorously, which I, of course, ignored and lifted my left eyebrow, until he finally pointed with a shaking forefinger in the direction of the desk. "Id's in m book'." 

I sighed again, because this whole situation really wore me out, and then left the kid whimpering and sweating in his blanket cocoon to make a few phone calls.  
  
The number of the St. James academy stood out in neat blue gel-pen -.Justin Taylor-handwriting under "Important contacts". In a $3.50 Wal-Mart notebook with a lesbian 'Baby in butterfly costume' binding. And I had the urgent need to burn that thing into a sterile pile of ash, while I dialed the number and waited for someone to pick the damn phone up.

"St. James academy, Dr. Perkin's office, Miss Miller speaking, how may I help you?" A cheery secretary voice twittered in my ear a few seconds later, and I cleared my throat to change into my best business voice.

"Kinney here. I have a sick report."

"Ah yes. And which student are we talking about, Mister Kinney?"

"Taylor. Justin."

She was typed something on her keyboard before speaking again. "And which grade is Mister Taylor?"

_Which grade?_ I frowned and looked a little clueless to the bedroom. Judging by the kid's body height, he couldn't be much further along than 6th grade. I was fairly sure that he'd told me some time about his soon to be graduation, so... "Ah... I don't know. Don't you have that kind of information somewhere in your documents?"

Miss Miller seemed to be a little irritated after this question. "Mister Kinney, may I ask in which relation you stand to the student?"

_What the hell?!_ I squinted my eyes. "I don't think this information is relevant for a sick report!"

She cleared her throat. "Well, Mister Kinney, as a matter of fact, only legal guardians or the students themselves, if they're of legal age, are authorized to report a nonattendance. Are you a legal guardian, sir?"

I really wasn't in the mood to discuss my status in Justin's life with this woman. "Listen Miss Meyer-"

"Miller." 

"Yeah, what ever. Justin is living with me and can't come to school today. So either you tell his teacher that he's sick, or you report him as an abductee to SETI. I don't care."

"Mister Kinney, I'm afraid in this case I have to insist on an official certification from his doctor." the secretary answered a little indignant.

Angrily I changed the phone from one hand to the other. "What the hell for?! I don't need a fucking doctor to tell me that the kid is sick!"... no, I only needed to look at my slobbered sleeve.

"Well it is necessary for our documents, sir."

Frustrated, I ran a hand through my hair and really wanted to rip her a new one, but it was Justin's school I was talking to and I figured an accusation of personal insult and threatened murder wouldn't be very helpful for his further education.

"Fine. I'll bring you the stupid certification in later and who knows maybe I'm in a good mood and you'll even get a Polaroid of his stomach contents!" I ended the call and threw the phone on the couch. "Bitch!"   
"Bria 'hn?" it cheeped and snuffled from the direction of the bed. "Ev´rything´ alrighd?"

"Hmm? Yeah, yeah..." In utter irresoluteness, I began to march a small furrow in my wonderful hard wood floor, until I had a plan ready for the rest of the day. 

Then I called Dr. Brown, my personal doctor, to make an appointment for later this morning, and called the office to let Cynthia know, I would come in twenty minutes late.

"Justin?" I ran back into the bedroom and spoke loudly and clearly audible, while changing my jacket. "I have an important meeting, but after that, I'll come back here and drive you to Dr. Brown."

"Who's thad?" it mewled from the pillow.

"My family doctor. Your school wants medical verification." I ran around to collect my things, a cell phone, wallet and my car keys and bent down to the nightstand to scribble down my direct number on a piece of paper. "Here. If you need anything, you call here." I stuck the note to the face of my alarm clock and stuffed the corners of the blanket one last time under Justin's back. "Try not to throw up in the bed. Later."

"Ok." the kid whimpered and blinked at me with glassy blue eyes. "Lader. Don'd worry aboud me."

"I won't." 

.. and I didn't. I didn't even thought about that kid. Not for a second. Not on my way to the parking garage, not on my way to the office and certainly not when Cynthia called me into my first meeting. Only when Mister Van Flaten began to present his new product, a headache medication on a biological basis, suitable for allergy sufferers, temporarily the distant picture of a small, suffering squirrel appeared in my mind and I cleared my throat and asked the client for a short break.

"What's up?" Cynthia wanted to know a little perplexed. "Is something the matter?"

"Hh? No, no. Everything's fine." I waved my hand and pointed at the phone on her desk. "Can you connect me to my home please."

"Home. Your home?"

I nodded impatiently. After all, my client was waiting and I surely didn't have time to stand around here the whole day. "Do it already!"

"Okay, okay." She gave me her typical 'Now the boss has finally lost his mind' gaze and dialed the number, before she handed me the phone.

It tooted. Eleven times. After the 12th time, I'd already looked through the yellow pages for the number of the emergency service, or the fire department or who ever was responsible for little twats in extreme emergency's, as eventually a weak, "Hello? Here by K' hinney, Justin' Thaylor on dhe phone'." was to be heard.

"Justin! Where the fuck have you been? I had it ringing for like a thousand times!"

"Hello Bria'hn." I could almost see his fevered smile and glowing cheeks, and paradoxically my anger level sunk a little.

"I've slepd a liddle." 

"Hmm." Well okay I could generously accept this excuse. "Good. Go back to bed and continue. I'm home in three hours."

"Okay Bria 'hn. Don'd worry aboud me." 

"Hmm. I won't."  
  
... and I didn't. I was only a little faster with finishing my work, because I really didn't want to stay longer in the office than absolutely necessary.

\----------------

Part II  
  
POV: Brian  
  
First of all, I have to clarify one thing: I hate going to doctors! 

Not because I'm afraid of syringes, or because they tend to bring very intimate things into the open here, no, it's only because of the staff. 

Doctor's assistants, receptionists, nurses, prostitutes or whatever the fuck you call these non-stop smiling Barbie dolls behind the counter. They're all from the same batch, and in Dr. Brows medical office, this fact is very obvious. See, the good doc has seven employees. All female, all blond and three of them are called Candy. The rest wears name tags, saying, 'Betty', 'Bobby', 'Carry' and 'Macy'. And no, not for the first time, I seriously wondered if there was any secret inclusion rite for this club, where you have to change your tit size to double D and your name to something with a Y at the end.  
  
"Hello, Mister Kinney, do you have an appointment?" Candy number two batted her extended eyelashes at me, smiling brightly over the counter with her heavily bleached teeth.  
  
Irritated I stepped back. "No. My... _partner_ has a appointment at 2 pm."

"Ah yes, of course." She looked around, searching, completely ignoring the sniffling Justin behind my back, and eventually handed me a pink clipboard. "You have to answer the questionnaire for your wife. Carry will call you in as soon as the doctor has time for you."   
I looked at her blankly before lifting my 'Please come again' eyebrow. "My _wife_?"  
  
Her megawatt grin grew a little bigger. "But absolutely, Mister Kinney. You can sit down in the waiting room." Again, she batted her painted eyelids at me, and in my jacket pocket, my nervous hand already closed around my $81 Cerruti darts-ball-pen, eager to throw a 100 points bulls-eye... But then the blond boy behind me gurgled something about 'have to puke' and 'bathroom' and I pulled the fucking clipboard board out of her hands, grabbed the kid (probably a little roughly) by the arm and, cursing, dragged him away.  
  
Fifteen minutes later, Justin had thrown up three times, (once in front of and twice into the toilette) and now slumped beside me on the ramshackle plastic chair in the waiting area, groaning quietly and blowing his nose every three seconds. What was really nerve-wrecking when you had the strict order to fill out a '13 questions about your wife' questionnaire . Hhh. I sighed and tried to focus on question number one. 

**Patients name and address:  
** Okay, this one was relatively easy. _Justin Taylor. 6 Tremont Street, Pittsburgh, PA 15275_. Hmm. The pen wrote this information, quasi all by itself on the paper, and I stared for a moment slightly startled at the end result. Then I cleared my throat, ignored the obvious connection to my own address and went on with question #2. 

**Are you taking any medications?**  
An image of my well filled medicine cabinet appeared immediately in front of my inner eye and I began to list the contents in high concentration. _Cetrizin, Cromohexal, Dispacromil, Loratadin, Oculosan, Aspirin_ \- I tipped the pen against my lip and furrowed my brows, while trying to remember any more pill cups with a marking 'Sunshine' sticker. I couldn't think of anything else, so I went to question #3. 

**Do you have a history of cardiovascular disease?**  
I peeked beside me to the sniffling brat with the tissue on his red nose. No, actually his heart worked really well... exactly like every other muscle in his body.

**Do you suffer from frequently nosebleed, or bruising without injury, resp. after light touches?  
**_Ahh_... naughty pictures of a blond boy in handcuffs, with the red marks of my five fingers on his pale ass rushed through my head and I shifted on my seat and made a vague cross for _no_ on the list.  
His blood coagulation seemed alright, if you asked me. 

**Are you allergic, or do you react hypersensitively to lidocaine, pain killers, narcotics, foods, medications, band-aids or latex?**  
Pfft. I snorted seriously amused. If Candy over there thought I would know such unimportant information about my 'partner' by heart, then she was fucking wrong. Really.  
I coughed inconspicuously in my fist, reached in the left pocket of my jacket and took my wallet out. In the second panel behind my Amex gold card was a folded piece of paper with a few small notes, I've made over the last few weeks.  
Things that could be important someday. Jennifer Taylor's cell phone number, the brand of Justin's favorite shower gel, his clothing size and yes... a few hints to medications and food that could be dangerous for the little twat in some way. I mean, come on, Craig Taylor really was an asshole and I had better things to do with my time than to fight with his homophobic lawyers, should I accidentally kill his son with an overdose of cat fur.  
Right, I started to write down all my notes one by one on the questionnaire and only looked up when Justin pointed weakly with his index finger at the paper.

"I'm nod allergig to lategs." he snorkeled and then cuddled with my jacket sleeve.

"Don't say." I answered him dryly, but automatically kissed his sweaty hair and scribbled a no for latex.  
  
Over the next ten minutes, I worked through most of the questions, guiltily wrote a little cross by _yes_ at the question **Do you smoke?** and made a mental note to myself to slap the brat's fingers, the next time he grabbed for his usual after-sex cigarette. After all, there was nothing amusing about dying on pulmonary cancer, at the age of 22.  
  
I sighed, went over to the last question, and horrified, pulled my pen back.

**13\. Could you be pregnant?  
** I blinked, felt my stomach turn unpleasantly and looked disgusted beside me, where the brat dosed, with half closed eyes, against my arm. I peered at his tummy, shuddered, and made a thick cross with three exclamation marks at the word **_No!!!_**  
I signed this statement hastily with my full name, shoved Justin from my side and stood up to return the clipboard to Betty-Bobby-Carry.  
  
When I came back into the waiting area, my chair was taken. By a woman.  
A pregnant woman. A pregnant woman, who obviously already was a mother, because she constantly nagged at a little fat boy, who kicked rhythmically against the shin of a 90 year old patient.  
  
"Gunther!" she shouted and was completely ignored. "Gunter, that isn't nice!", she tried once again. "The nice grandpa has a bad boo-boo on his leg!"  
  
At this point, I felt the urgent need to enlarge Justin's puddle in front of the toilette.  
  
"Gunther stop it!" She raised her voice and her finger. "Behave, or you will not get any ice-cream afterwards!"  
  
"Hhh. Yeah exactly." I shook my head at this masterfully educative performance which earned an accusing look from Mrs. Supermommy.  
  
"You really shouldn't interfere, Mister, as long as you don't have children of your own."  
  
I'm sure she felt really self-important by making this statement, but I only looked at her blankly. After all, my boy was very well-educated and extremely well-behaved. And just to illustrate this obvious fact, I went over to the chair where Justin sat (or rather drooped pathetically) and snapped my finger in front of his green nose. 

"Get up Sonny Boy, or do you think I'd like to stand here all day."  
  
He looked at me briefly and stood up immediately, without a single comment. And I ruffled through his hair affectionately, sat down and patted my left thigh, invitingly.  
  
Without hesitation he sat down on my lap, with a limp arm around my shoulder and his head snuggled against my neck. "Thangs Bria 'hn."  
  
"Hmm." I patted his glowing cheek gently, slid my arm around his waist a little tighter and grabbed for a magazine with my free hand.  
  
... while supermommy, who was sitting next to me, almost exploded with indignation. "Unbelievable!" she gasped, shook her head and turned away.  
  
"Hmph." I smirked victoriously over the top of my magazine at little Gunther, who'd started throwing blocks at his mother, while 'little Justin' peacefully breathed in my ear with his plugged nose, wherefore I, of course, had to pet his cheek again. Good boy.  
  
Another ten minutes later, Candy #1 trotted with her professional 'I was Miss Wal-Mart 2003' smile into the waiting room. "Mister and Misses Kinney please."  
  
My head shot up and I fired a precise ice-stare at the point between her badly painted eyes. "It is _Mister Taylor_."  
  
Candy looked irritatedly at her clipboard, and three seconds later, glanced up again, smiling broadly. "Of course. Justin Taylor. The doctor has time now."  
  
I smacked the boy's butt and he got up a little tiredly. But marched away without opposition.  
  
"If you want you can just wait here for your wi-" Candy gesticulated to Justin. "Ahm... your... Mister Taylor?"  
  
"Partner." I hissed coldly and really hoped that Justin wouldn't remember this statement later, because of course, I only wanted to correct a clear misjudgment by using the ´P´ term. "He is my _partner_ in our _homosexual_ relationship! And no, I can't just wait here." I stood up, imitating her Barbie doll voice, before roughly grabbing Justin's arm and storming with him out of the room. I mean hello? Everybody knows, you leave your brat in the care of such a charlatan, and when you come back to pick him up, his left ear is missing or he's circumcised or whatever!  
  
Candy #1 was a little perplexed and needed a moment to catch up with us, passed by on her clicking stilettos and finally, a little breathless, opened a door. "Please. The doctor will be here in a minute. In the meantime Mister Taylor can get ahm... undressed." She blushed violently at this suggestion and I only lifted my eyebrow, waiting. This person hopefully wasn't under the false impression, I would strip the kid in front of her voyeuristic eyes.  
  
After almost twelve seconds and a strong coughing from my side, the message finally sank into Candy's poorly functioning brain and she traipsed out of the room.  
She closed the door and I used the opportunity to look around a little, while Justin tried, under immense exertion of force, to climb on the paper covered medical table.  
The room wasn't really large and looked cluttered with things that one could use on helpless, sniffling Twinkies, and I wasn't quite sure if I liked that.  
Over Sized Q-tips, wooden tongue depressors, funnel-lamps, enemas, and hypodermic needles in every size. Ok, the chrome colored rectal-speculum, on the sterile cloth beside the kidney dish, was slightly interesting and I lifted it up to test the 'span' and to-  
  
"Brian!" Dr. Brown entered the room, with a grandfather smile, and reached for my hand in greeting. "You haven't been here for a long time. How is your-"  
  
"Fantastic!" I interrupted him immediately, before he could share intimate details about even more intimate parts of my body, in the presence of the B.R.A.T.  
  
"Good, good. Glad to hear." He smiled brightly and sat down behind his desk. "And what's the reason for your visit here today, Brian?"  
  
"Well doc... my," I coughed into my fist and gestured toward the boy, who finally had reached the top of the Matterhorn. "Roommate is sick. He needs a certificate for school."  
  
"Really?" Doc Brown wrinkled his forehead, while he looked at Justin from a distance. "My, my. And what symptoms have you observed?"  
  
Symptoms? I frowned. Wasn't that obvious? He was pale and greenish. His nose didn't work properly and he seemed to have a problem with his perspiratory glands. It was disgusting. "He snots and puked in front of your toilette." I shrugged. "Maybe he has temperature."  
  
"Hmm." The doctor stood up from his chair. "Interesting." Immediately he had a little flashlight in his hand and shone it into Justin's left eye. "When did the problems start?"  
  
"Tonight. 3.26 am." I remembered exactly the tragic interruption of my wonderful James Dean-date.  
  
"Hmm." He shone the light into his other eye, pulled the lid up and changed Justin's head position by moving the chin from the left to the right. "Dizziness? Loss of appetite? Problems with swallowing?"  
  
"Thh! Definitely not." I instantly declined such ridiculous notions firmly and Justin looked nervously in my direction as the doctor began to fumble at his throat and neck.  
  
"Okay. Please take your shirt off, Justin. I would like to take a listen. When was the last time your blood was tested?"  
  
Justin groped a little clumsily at the bottom of his sweater. "Bria 'hn toog me lasd month with him to his HIV tesd." he gurgled and coughed. "Bria 'hn says thad id is importand."  
  
Dr. Brown did the grandfather smile again. "Well Brian is right. But I meant a great blood count. iron-values. sugar-speculum. When was that tested the last time?" Justin had managed to pull off his sweater and the doc took his wrist between three fingers to feel his pulse.  
  
"Not in the last seven months. But he had an allergy test on April 26th." I explained eventually, in my best business tone, and then crossed my arms defiantly in front of my chest because I wasn't quite sure why I was remembering those facts.  
  
The doc put his stethoscope on his ears, breathed at the round chest piece and then laid it across Justin's heart. "Good, I think we will extract a small sample to exclude an anemia."  
  
"Hmm." I couldn't say that I was very interested in this information, but instead stretched my neck, as the good doc checked Justin's pierced nipple area a little to long. "Something interesting to hear, doc?" 

  
  
Concentrating, he furrowed his brows and moved with his face closer to Justin's chest. "I'm not sure. Please take a deep breath."  
  
Not sure my ass! I lost my casual, devil-may-care demeanor and took a protective position at the boy's right side. Justin breathed extra deep, gurgled and coughed once heavily as doc Brown's nose almost made contact with his pink nipple, which definitely didn't fell in his area of expertise.  
  
Doc cleared his throat, stretched his back and took the stethoscope plugs out of his ears. "Ahm, I don't think his lungs are infected, but his air passages are a little sore. I will give you something to clear the mucus.  
  
"Okay." the kid cheeped and blinked innocently, while Doc Brown used the intercom at his desk.  
  
"Betty? I need a great blood count, please."  
  
Not even ten seconds later, ominous clicking was to be heard on the other side of the door and one of the nurses entered, wearing rubber gloves and holding a kidney dish full of tubes and needles.  
  
Right on command, Justin whimpered and I straightened to my full height and took on a very intimidating posture, while my expression reflected the patented 'One wrong blink in my brat's direction and you have an apple knife in your back, got it?' death stare.  
  
She seemed to be unimpressed and began to spray Justin's arm with antiseptic.  
  
Justin whimpered again and looked up to me with a panicky expression in the eyes. "Bria 'hn I hade needl's."  
  
I snorted condescending, mumbled something about 'pathetic', 'Irish pride' and wanted to know if he'd changed into a lesbian over night... but nevertheless, wrapped my hand inconspicuously around his fingers and laid the other on the back his neck.  
  
Meanwhile, Betty stretched the rubber tubing around Justin's upper arm and smiled brightly. "Please make a fist and pump a few times."  
  
I shot her a warning look for this lame flirt attempt, but Justin was a good boy, and obeyed without comment.  
  
"Okay, now please hold completely still. You'll feel a big sting."  
  
I watched in terror as those oversized, red plastic fingernails shoved a 2 inch needle into Justin's perfect peach skin and my grip in the boy's neck tightened automatically. 

He hissed, shut his eyes, tensed and pressed his face in my chest.  
  
And nurse Betty filled the first of four tubes with a friendly smile.  
  
"Bria' hn..." mewled the suffering kid and I rolled my eyes, because sometimes he really was a fucking baby.  
  
With calm fingers, I caressed the soft hairs on his neck. "Do you know what I dreamed about last night?"  
  
He shook his head slightly.  
  
"Guess."  
  
"Rough Stuff nighd ad Babylon?" He snorkeled in my shirt and I frowned.  
  
"No."  
  
"Melanie was eat'n by a T-Regs?"  
  
I smiled. "No."  
  
Betty changed to the second tube and Justin winced a little. "James Dean naked' on the hood'?"  
  
I curled a blond hair strand around my finger and didn't know why I negated this answer. "Pff. That would be great."  
  
He thought for a moment. "Of me?"  
  
Hmm. Basically he wasn't wrong, even if he was a deranged squirrel in my dream. "Yeah sure. Why would I dream about you, brat?!"  
  
He shrugged his shoulders and I laid a hand on them to keep him still.  
  
"Whad have I done' in your dream'?" Betty pushed the third tube in and Justin pulled his arm back.  
  
"Hold still, Justin." I told him sternly and then kissed his hair.  
  
"Did' I mage dinner' for you?" He pressed his nose deeper in my shirt.  
  
"Hmm."  
  
"What did I mage you'? Noodl's?"  
  
"Hmm."  
  
"Did you lige id?"  
  
"Hmm."  
  
I could feel how he weakly, but happily, smiled in my chest about this information and didn't even notice as Betty changed the last tube.  
  
"Really? I can' mage you noodl's when' we're home."  
  
"Hmm. Maybe tomorrow." I stroked his neck again as the nurse pulled the needle out of his arm.  
  
"Ahh." Justin squirmed a little and I gave doc Brown's prostitute the evil eye. Where did this cow received her education? At the slaughterhouse?  
  
"My god, can't you be more gentle?!"  
  
"Sorry." she blinked sweetly with her long eyelashes and put a cotton-wool ball at Justin's arm. "I'm already done. Tomorrow you won't see it anymore."  
  
"Hmm." I looked sceptically at the insertion wound. Betty-Boo here better be right with her bold statement. Because I liked the kid most when he was in perfect condition.  
  
"So! Justin." Doc Brown raised zestfully from his chair and waved a slip of paper in the air. "I have written down a few prescriptions here which you will have to get at the pharmacy and take them punctually. Also, I suggest to rest in bed for the next few days and to drink lots of liquids. You can get the result of your blood test tomorrow by calling. Bobby. We will write you a note for school."  
  
"Okay." Justin blinked sheepishly and weakly shook the doc's hand.  
  
"So, Brian, I can take it that you will take good care of your," he coughed in his fist. "Roommate?"  
  
I gave him a fake smile and blindly threw the sweater against Justin's bare chest. Little twat . Did I look like Florence fucking Nightingale?! Shit... 

*** 

  
Ok, now that's the actual situation: By my calculations, Justin has leaked from more than one body opening and the car seats had just been freshly shampooed. Therefore, I decided to drive the kid home first (on the shortest way and using a full roll of plastic wrap) and then do the rest of the shopping alone. Pharmacy, school, drug store, not to forget a short visit at the office and a stop at the grocery store to do something against the empty fridge. God, I really considered shooting myself. Who would've thought that it would be so complicated to pep up a kid of such small body size…  
  
So. I tucked the kid back into bed, tucked the edges of the blanket tightly under his feverish body and felt his sticky forehead almost professionally. He was still disgusting.  
  
Justin smiled tiredly. "Don'd worry, Brian 'h. I'm feelin' bedder already.  
  
"H-hm." As if I was interested about that at the moment. More important was the question: What the hell is a cherry-pit-pac?! I frowned about the '10 tips for home care' information brochure, Candy #3 had given me, together with a 'I was very brave' sticker and a little package of jelly babies for patient Sunshine.  
Stressed, I ran a hand through my hair, collected my car keys and marched back to the elevator. Maybe I should stop at Debbie's, for a little advice... 

*** 

"And don't forget to check his temperature every ten minutes!" A threatening finger wagged against my nose. "With your lips, like I showed you! These modern thermometers are for shit!"  
She kissed me again with her red lipstick on my forehead to demonstrate and by now I was probably this close to strangling her... but, I had both hands full with a pot of chicken soup, two hot-water bottles, five magazines, a self knitted scarf in rainbow colors and an ancient porcelain chamber potty which had to be an heirloom from the motherly part of her family.  
  
I rolled my eyes. "It's okay, Deb. I got it."

  
"And you call me, are you listening?"  
  
"Yes, mom." I don't know why, but every time she changed into mother mode I automatically changed into school boy mode.  
  
"Every hour!"  
  
My desperation rose to the top and it was moments like these when it became very clear to me why Michael was such a pro at hardcore whining.  
  
"Even in the night?"  
  
She answered me with a reproachful blink of her eye, and all I could do was to sigh beaten and crawl back into my car. Fucking brat. He could consider himself lucky if he wouldn't hung lifeless from the loft-ceiling by midnight, with this damned colored scarf around is neck...  
  
My next stop was the St. James academy and here I felt in control again. With my best business look and firm steps I marched straight to the principal's office and entered the room after knocking on the door.  
  
A burly built lady, in a disgusting flower shirt, sat at the desk and peered up to me. "May I help you?"  
  
"Mister Kinney. We've talked on the phone this morning." I explained without showing the least bit of kindness.  
  
"Ah."  
  
She straightened her back and put her cup of coffee down. "How's Justin?"  
  
"Mister Taylor is to be on the mend." I took the envelope from Doc Brown's medical office out of the inner pocket of my coat. "The proof photographs are being inspected by the FBI at the moment. We'll deliver them later, together with a probe of his stool."  
  
Her look changed from 'Huh?' to 'Really?!' and then into an angry 'Don't you dare...!' in less then 10 seconds.  
  
I smirked triumphantly, threw the note on her desk, "I wish you a good day, Miss Meyer." and left the educational institution with quick steps... while a furious "My name is Miller!" was shouted after me.  
  
I spent the next 65 minutes running errands. A short visit at the office to collect a few documents and at the store to purchase a few essential things, which you need when you house a sick boy: Two bottles of Sagrotan, ear-plugs, face mask, rubber gloves and a few grams of Anita's best 'seasoning mix' to relax in extreme stressful situations.  
  
In the 66th minute, I knew every pharmacy in Pittsburgh with their exact address, knew from first hand about cherry-pit-pac's and not even a package of aspirin would've fit between all the bags and boxes in my car. But I was satisfied with myself and really looked forward to getting home and testing all the new acquisitions on my roommate. 

Almost happily, I balanced the eleven bags, two boxes and a pot full of cold chicken soup up the stairs, opened the door--- and dropped it all immediately, when I heard screams of pain.  
  
"Brian'h! Briii-aaan'h!"  
  
My heart was beating fast and I already had my cell phone at my ear to call the emergency, as I ran quickly into the bedroom. 

"Justin?" More heartbreaking as in every scene of 'Gone with the wind' I bend down on my knees in front of the mattress and stretched my hand to five weak, pale fingers. "Justin, what the hell is wrong?!"  
  
"Brain'h..." he mumbled and turned his head in my direction.  
  
"Yes?" Maybe he would survive if I'd quickly put the cherry-pit-pac on his belly.  
  
"My feed are so hod..."  
  
I frowned and got closer to hear him better because all I could understand was something about hot feet and nothing about the life-threatening situation here. "What?"  
  
"My feed..." with the last ounce of strength he lifted one foot under the blanket and waggled illustrating with it. "They're hod."  
  
I blinked, stared at him... for a looooong moment… squeezed his hand a little to tightly while I smiled fakely at him and stood up slowly to get a cloth. After all, two liters of greasy chicken soup swam around on my Milan hard wood floor. ...once I rescued it, there would still be enough time to bring the ´strangle scarf´ into action. 

*** 

The next three days I spent my time with giving foot baths (changing from cold to hot, because the fucking brat changed his body temperature faster then a iguana in the rutting season!), warming up fresh lemons (because Debbie ordered me to do so, at every second control call), making leg compresses ("Brian'h... my legs are tiggling... I thing I ged thromboses!"), to washing out grandmother Grassi's chamber potty ("Brian'h id's way to far to the bathroom!") to watching as many talk-shows as possible, sitting next to a whining, sticky and terrible suffering little twat, who was sure he could only sit comfortably on the couch, if I sat in the exact right angle beside him. 

To make it short, I was two millimeters away from employing an assassin, who would wipe my little blond problem from the face of earth!  
But... just as I wanted to grab the phone to verify if Billy the fish still worked for the mafia, it happened. Directly in my bedroom: It tooted, sniffled, snorted and I blinked disgustedly at the blond creature on my bed, which cleared his nose with a over-sized hankie, wiggled his nose in testing, took a deep breath and finally smiled over his whole face.  
  
"Brian! I can smell again!"  
  
I took a hesitant step closer. "Really?"  
  
"Yes!" Demonstrating, he held his snot rag up. "I even can breath properly again!"  
  
Actually he really snorkeled 95% less than before. "Hmm." I felt his forehead before I looked him in the eyes. "And what's with your head?"  
  
"Doesn't hurt anymore."  
  
"Your tummy?"  
  
He laid his hand on his stomach. "A little empty. Do we have some more soup?"  
  
I ignored him and ordered him to open his mouth, so that I could look into his ever so entertaining throat. "What's with your throat?"  
  
"Fperfec." he tried to convince me and I released his jaw.  
  
"What's with your feet? Do you want to put them into cold water?"  
  
He waggled his toes and then smiled brightly. "Nope. They feel fantastic."  
  
"So you're healthy again?" I held my euphoria at bay.  
  
He looked down on himself and then shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, I feel better."  
  
I fixated him for another moment with a stern look, "Good." grabbed my car keys, my platinum membership card for the local baths and gave Justin a peck on his forehead. "Don't stay up too long. Tomorrow is school."  
  
"Where are you going?"  
  
"I desperately need some relaxation. I'm terribly stiff." With a roll of my shoulders, I left my beloved loft, headed in the direction of the lust grotto and 45 minutes later was really surprised that I couldn't enjoy Pedro's professional skills as much as usual. Somehow, I really felt a little stiff. And my head hurt. And my nose was-  
  
"Hey!" Pedro lifted his head between my thighs. "Don't you have a hankie, man?!"  
  
With the back of my hand, I wiped my nose and tugged the white towel around my hips a little tighter. Pouting and deeply hurt. Great. Hopefully Debbie wouldn't need her chamber potty back anytime soon... 

*** 

"I will take good care of you." My blond roommate promised half an hour later and tucked the edges of the blanket a little tighter around my feverish body. "Don't worry, Brian."  
  
I didn't... and weakly grabbed for the phone. "Yes... please connect me with Billy. Billy the Fish."

-End-


End file.
